


Cinema des Vampires

by LSRichards



Category: Vampire Chronicles - Anne Rice
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 03:47:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10778922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSRichards/pseuds/LSRichards
Summary: This is an AU, and the "alternate" universe is one in which the movie version of "The Vampire Lestat" actually happened, instead of going to TV, or, alternately, in some future when the TV series spawns a movie a' la "Firefly" or "X-Files."So, the movie version of TVL exists, got that? Good. Here's what happens after that.Seating is limited.





	Cinema des Vampires

Caitlyn, Zoë and Emma were excited AF. Zoë's folks were out of town, so it didn't matter what time they got back, and as Emma had just gotten her license they had a guaranteed ride into New Orleans. They were going to Cinéma des Vampires.

They'd seen the movie, of course, it had been out for months, but everybody knew there was only one way to truly see it, at the midnight show at the tiny theater in the French Quarter, the one with the live stage show. “So it's like _Rocky Horror?”_ Emma had asked a classmate who had gone, and that classmate had just smiled enigmatically, almost pityingly, at Emma and refused to answer.

And so at 8 p.m. on Saturday night they piled into Emma's mom's Subaru and headed into town after hours of trying on and discarding black, lacy garments until they got their look just right. Seats were first-come, first-served, so you had to get there early. They blasted the _Vampire Lestat_ soundtrack on the way, to get fully into the mood, as the sun failed in the west.

They parked in a big lot on Canal and crossed over into the Quarter proper, three teen-aged schoolgirls in short skirts, huddling together against the tourist hordes. Caitlyn had her phone out, the mapping app guiding their steps. Finally they reached the alley, and saw the flickering orange flambeaux high on the walls flanking the doors. A knot of black-clad people were already in line.

They bought their tickets and joined the line, affecting expressions of blasé sophistication, which they completely dropped upon realizing everyone else in line was as young and as excited as themselves. Talking to their line-mates, comparing notes on the movie, on the books, on their outfits, time flew by.

Somewhere around eleven p.m. a man began to walk up the line, not hurrying, at complete leisure, a man substantially older than most of those in line, a man of perhaps forty, with dark hair, very white skin, piercing blue eyes, and a commanding presence. As he drew abreast of the girls he stopped, and stared hard at Emma. Then he continued on, pausing occasionally to stare at another audience member. Reaching the top of the line, he disappeared inside the guarded tall black doors of the theater, beneath the carved stone cartouche of fanged comedy-and-drama masks.

“That was weird,” Zoë said in delighted horror, and everybody around them agreed that yes, yes it was, wonder what it means? Was that a vampire? I think it was certainly meant to be. What did the staring mean?

Thus huddled, they failed to notice that the tall man had looped around and was again walking up the line. Reaching a spot above the girls he stopped, and nodded at Emma as another man, this one shorter than himself, with auburn hair, joined him, and turned to look at Emma.

Emma's heart stopped, just _stopped,_ because Emma had a secret she'd not shared with Caitlyn and Zoë, namely, that while she too was a _Vampire Lestat_ fan, it was not Lestat who had captured her heart. Emma was an Armand girl, and it was Armand—or a very reasonable facsimile thereof-- who was standing not six feet away, looking right at her. After a breathless moment, he looked up at the taller vampire, and without a word they walked on up the line, and disappeared into the theater, excited murmurs of _Armand, Armand, Armand_ in their wake. And a few minutes after that, the line began to move.

Through the black doors, through the flaming lamps, under the stone fangs. Plush velvet, luxurious draperies, chandeliers and candelabrae of replica human bones. Or maybe not replica. Through red velvet curtains into the auditorium itself, an ornate jewel box of damask, ormulu and boiserie in black and gold, the screen framed by a gilded proscenium arch of carved nymphs and satyrs. They found seats about halfway back, in the middle as the audience filed in, taking every seat, at precisely at midnight, the houselights dimmed.

In the dark, they felt it first, because it was below the range of human hearing. But they could _feel_ it, a vibration in the bones, before it finally burst into their hearing: a mighty bass chord of a pipe organ, a chord that rose in pitch, fading into the unbearable tension of an unfinished phrase; a silence the space of a single breath; and the world exploded into pounding amplified techno, dark and driving, and as it did the nymphs and satyrs came shockingly alive, stepping out of the proscenium arch. They danced with each other in a terrible _danse macabre_ , the innocent nymphs, male and female, inevitably falling to the vampiric satyrs. The music climaxed as the stage lights turned a drenching blood-red, then cut to black, black velvet curtains falling across the screen.

A moment later a single figure stepped out from between the curtains, a small figure with auburn hair. A quiet gasp rolled through the audience but he acknowledged it not at all, stepping down off the raised apron by way of a central staircase. He walked up to the front row of seats, and without hesitation began walking on the armrests of the seats, stepping over row after row, making a beeline directly towards Emma.

“Hello,” he said to her, smiling, and, bowing, held out his hand.

Emma had no choice, none at all. She took his hand, registering dimly its coolness. Together they walked toward the aisle, Armand stepping over the patrons on the armrests, Emma scuttling along past people's knees as Caitlyn and Zoë hugged each other and tried not to scream.

In the aisle, Armand hopped nimbly to the carpet and took both of Emma's hands in his own, walking backwards toward the screen and stage, smiling at her, showing his fangs, and as his did the curtains opened, revealing a full-sized guillotine with a large wicker basket below its horizontal plank.

Caitlyn and Zoë gasped along with the audience and a few seconds later Emma began to struggle in Armand's grasp. “No!” she cried. “No, no!”

“No pain,” he replied, and the vampires on the stage echoed it: “No pain.” Again he said it, “No pain,” and taking one hand from Emma's he made a come-along gesture to the audience so now the whole _house_ was intoning it: _No pain, no pain, no pain_ as they walked to the stage and up the stairs, Emma lying down in the guillotine as if hypnotized. 

Caitlyn and Zoë were in agony. This couldn't possibly be real! They couldn't possibly be really going to cut Emma's head off! Lawsuits! Liability! But while they were having these thoughts, wondering if they should scream or not, run up to the stage and rescue her or not, the vampires were bringing out the wicked blade, demonstrating its sharpness by using it to cut a floating feather, loading it into the machine and letting it drop with an awful _shhhhrt!_ and Emma's head disappeared, dropping into the basket.

Caitlyn and Zoë screamed.

The tall, dark-haired vampire reached into the basket and lifted out Emma's head by its long, blonde hair. The others crowded around, filling crystal glasses with the blood dripping from it. They drank, and on a crescendo of music smashed their glasses on the stage.

Blackout.

Caitlyn and Zoë couldn't move.  They cut Emma's head off. They cut Emma's head off.  _THEY CUT EMMA'S HEAD OFF!_ And then some guy was standing on the stage talking about the rules, about how smoking was not allowed, no, not even if Louis set you on fire, and that if anybody threw any Rice they'd be banned for life, or worse, and then the movie just  _started_ and Caitlyn and Zoë were freaking the holy fuck out. 

“Hi, guys,” Emma said, dropping back into her seat. Zoë and Caitlyn goggled.

“They cut your head off!” Caitlyn yelled over the starting film. “We _saw_ them!”

“Oh,” Emma said, rolling up her _I Got Killed at Cin_ _é_ _ma des Vampires_ T-shirt, “they just re-attached it and put some of their blood on it, it healed right up. But that's not the important thing.” She grabbed Caitlyn by the shoulders and slammed her into her velvet seat, punctuating each word with a bounce: _“I! Kissed! Ar! Mand!”_ And looking up they saw him standing by the side of the screen, expression completely angelic, checking his fingernails. Then he slipped behind the curtain, and the movie was 

INSERT FILM HERE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
